


five things jaskier has lost, in the order that he lost them

by silverfoxflower



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29586096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverfoxflower/pseuds/silverfoxflower
Summary: In his memory, his mother is a warm laugh and soft hands. She smells of lavender oil, and sings to him when he is feverish.Those bits of melody slide across mind when he dreams, intractable and ever slipping out of his conscious grasp.There are portraits in Lettenhove of a lady in grey, but he does not recognize her at all. Her countenance is stiff, her expression stricken. Did she die so unhappily, then? Why couldn’t he make her love him enough to stay?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 54





	five things jaskier has lost, in the order that he lost them

01

In his memory, his mother is a warm laugh and soft hands. She smells of lavender oil, and sings to him when he is feverish. 

Those bits of melody slide across mind when he dreams, intractable and ever slipping out of his conscious grasp. 

There are portraits in Lettenhove of a lady in grey, but he does not recognize her at all. Her countenance is stiff, her expression stricken. Did she die so unhappily, then? Why couldn’t he make her love him enough to stay?

02

“You are not my son,” his father says, and Jaskier thinks spitefully, _I would hope not_.

His father is old and gnarled bitterly like an oak splintered by lighting. Alive, but just barely, growing twisted around the scar. Surely he was as so, when Jaskier’s mother was young and sweet, and sucked the life from her as he sucked the joy from everything around him.

Lettenhove is grey, grey grey … the crash of waves on the crags and Jaskier’s sisters slipping through their silent rooms like mournful ghosts. He’s suffocated. He can hardly breathe. 

Jaskier thinks that his true father must be some woodland spirit, some delicate, wild-eyed thing that seduced his mother from her unhappiness and gave her a taste of its frightful love. Perhaps his father ordered it slain in anger. Jaskier thinks he can hear the bray of hounds and shuddering stomp of hooves in the moonlight. Cut down like a hart under the hunter’s arrow - his mother’s love, his mother’s hope. 

Jaskier runs so he doesn’t suffer the same fate. 

03

“You’re a genius, Professor Pankranz,” Dean Aurseff says, “not one of us has a doubt about that.” 

“But you’re denying me tenure,” Jaskier bites out, his hands balled into fists on his knees. “May I ask why?” 

Aurseff sighs, pulling the half-moon spectacles from his face. “It has to do with _commitment_ , Professor Pankranz. You’ve hardly met the teaching quota we require of our professors, and I believe I’ve been remarkably lenient thus far-”

“It’s my _work_ , Dean Aurseff!” Jaskier protests. “My research takes me afield, just as any herbologist or archeologist-” 

“Yes,” Aurseff says dryly. “Following the Witcher.” 

There is a beat of silence.

“I see that’s what this department thinks of my work,” Jaskier stands with a savage smile. “Perhaps the Imperial Academy would be more appreciative.” 

A hollow threat, and they both knew it. The stirrings of war would soon pit Nilfgaard against the rest of the Northern Kingdoms, and taking a position with the Academy would be as good as treason. 

“You’re the youngest candidate for tenure this department has ever entertained,” Dean Aurseff says, his tone clipped. “I see now that the consideration was likely premature.” 

Jaskier storms out of the Dean’s office in a whirlwind of anger, slamming the door after him.

Two weeks later, he hears that Professor Marx was granted his appointment. 

04

“You’re not happy,” Virginia du Stael says. She’s turned away from him, the line of her lovely back curved and pale in the candlelight. “And I’m beginning to think you might never be. Certainly not with me.” 

“Please,” Jaskier pleads, placing a knee on the bed as he reaches for her. “I know couldn't make it in time, but I had not forgotten! I was delayed- ... I’ll do better, I promise.” 

She flinches his hand off of her shoulder. Her dark hair spills across her breast like ink over fresh vellum. He’d loved her since he first knew what love was, his Virginia. 

“You run and you run like there’s something at your heels,” she says hollowly. “Allow me to open the bars of your cage.” She gestures to the bedroom door. “Go.” 

He’s hopeless. His tongue tied in knots. No sweet words to sway her, no pretty gifts or clever bedroom tricks. He almost asks her to marry him, but. In all their years of association, she’s never even visited his ancestral home. 

He silently withdraws and steps outside, only to realize that there had been no cage, all along. 

No one wants to keep him. 

05

He realizes, suddenly, and all the pieces snap into place. 

Geralt is staring over the peak, a dark, brooding shape. A constant in his vision. 

_It’s you_ , Jaskier thinks, with sudden exhilaration, _it’s always been you._

Everything he was running away from. The only thing he was ever running towards. He quickens his steps, his heart pounding in his chest. He’s no longer the victim, the fleeting prey. He’s on the precipice of such sharp realization that he feels as if he can fly.

“We should head to the coast,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> my [tumblr](https://greyduckgreygoose.tumblr.com/tagged/myfic)


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